


Stories Are The Best Medicine

by thepensword



Category: Supernatural
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, And tiny Sam makes me squeal because CUTE, Bobby should've been a dad, Fluff, Fluffy, Gen, NO John bashing, Non-graphic but still sick-eugh, Some sick-eugh, Weechesters, but anyway, dean is an awesome big brother, really really fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-16 02:33:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5810176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepensword/pseuds/thepensword
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sammy is sick, but that's ok, because Dean is there to watch out for him. And when Dean gets too tired to lull him to sleep, Uncle Bobby can fill his place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sniffles

_Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

_September 5 th, 1988_

_Sniffles_

* * *

__

It starts with the runny nose.

Dean is lying in bed, trying to sleep, but he can’t because Sammy is sniffling. He rolls over so that he is facing the wall and tucks the blankets over his head.

Sammy’s asleep now, and he’s snoring. Each breath in heralds a new burst of wet gurgles, and each exhalation is accompanied by a ferocious whistle from his nose.

Part of Dean wants to get up and wake Sam, just to get him to be quiet. Another part tells him to go sleep in a different room. It’s not like Bobby’s house has any shortage of those.

But they’ve slept together every day of their lives. If Sammy wakes up and Dean’s not in the room, he’ll get scared.

So Dean stays. And eventually he does fall asleep.

The next morning he’s tired, but it doesn’t really matter, because the next day Sam has a new symptom.


	2. Honey-Lemon Tea

_September 6 th, 1988_

_Honey-Lemon Tea_

* * *

 

Sam won’t eat breakfast.

Dean’s been trying for the past hour, with a twenty-minute interlude of Bobby’s attempts. But every time the spoonful of cereal gets close to his mouth, Sam just shakes his head and cringes away.

Dean asks him what’s the matter, and Sammy shakes his head again.

He won’t speak, either.

Bobby mutters something under his breath and stares at them from under his eyebrows. Then, a little louder, he mumbles something about having to get started on his cars and asks them to be good and _for God’s sake, Sam, eat yer damn breakfast_ , and then he leaves.

“Come on, Sammy,” pleads Dean, airplaning the spoon and splattering milk all across the tabletop. “You gotta eat.”

Sammy shakes his head again and hides his eyes under his bangs.

Dean’s only nine but he knows everything about his brother, so he can tell that Sam is hurting. “Is it your throat, Sammy?” he asks quietly.

Slowly, Sam lifts his eyes and nods. Then he sniffles once. Twice.

“How bad is it?”

Something breaks in Sammy and he finally opens his mouth and vomits words—“ _It’s really really_ bad _, Dean!”—_ and then he’s latching onto his big brother, hands knotted in Dean’s shirt, big heavy tears pouring from underneath the eyelids which are squeezed shut, wails painfully ripping from his throat.

Dean puts a hand of Sammy’s back and rubs it in circles until Sammy calms down. His brother’s breathing gets quieter, occasionally interrupted by tiny hiccupping sobs.

Sammy is asleep, so Dean picks him up as gently as he can. Sam stirs slightly, blinking his eyes once and shifting his head to a more comfortable position on Dean’s shoulder. Then he closes his eyes and is asleep again.

Dean walks upstairs into their bedroom and puts Sammy down on his bed. He carefully pulls the covers up around his brother and lifts up his shaggy head so he can place a second pillow beneath his neck.

When Sam wakes up, Dean is sitting beside him holding a steaming mug of honey lemon tea, and Sam knows that he has the best big brother in the world.

 


	3. On-Duty

_September 7 th, 1988, Morning_

_On-Duty_

* * *

 

Sam slept all yesterday, and Uncle Bobby said maybe he’d be better in the morning. But as soon as he totters down the stairs, bleary-eyed and tired-looking, Dean knows that he’s not better.

Not even close.

Now Sammy’s coughing, and they’re really wet-sounding coughs, too. Uncle Bobby lets them watch TV all day and Dean makes more tea.

Spending this much time next to Sam-the-germ-factory is probably going to get Dean sick too, but he doesn’t mind because when Sammy’s sick, he needs Dean to be there.

They don’t have a Mom, and Dad’s hunting, and Uncle Bobby’s working, so Dean has to take care of Sammy.

 


	4. Chicken Soup

 

_September 7 th, 1988, Afternoon_

_Chicken Soup_

* * *

 

Dean doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he’s been looking after Sammy and he’s tired too. When he wakes up, he’s really hungry because he missed lunch (and breakfast as well, because Sam wasn’t hungry and Dean had to be with him), but he’s got bigger problems.

Sammy’s asleep and his forehead’s on fire. His long bangs are plastered to his forehead with sweat and he’s moaning softly.

Dean shakes him gently awake. “Sammy,” he says. “Sammy, wake up.”

Sam blinks his eyes open slowly, and Dean can tell that he’s miserable. “Hey,” he says, and he kisses Sam’s temple. “You want some chicken soup?”

Sammy stares at him for a moment like he’s having trouble registering. He coughs weakly and then nods.

Dean makes him chicken soup and hand-feeds him until he falls asleep again.

And Dean falls asleep with him.

Bobby comes in later and watches the boys sleep. He smiles and goes to wash his hands by the sink. At bedtime he rouses Dean and scoops up Sammy. Dean follows as his brother is carried up to their room.

Bobby tucks them in and thinks, sadly, that if Karen were still alive, he’d tell her that maybe they could have children, that maybe he wasn’t such a bad father after all.

He understands now, why Karen wanted them. They make him feel warm and fill up a hole he never knew he had.

Sam mumbles something in his sleep and Dean whispers goodnight.

Bobby glows.


	5. Nausea

_September 8 th, 1988, Early Morning_

_Nausea_

* * *

 

It’s six o’ clock and Sammy feels _really_ bad. He’s shaking with cold, which is weird because when he woke up twenty minutes ago he felt like he was on fire, but the reason he feels so bad is his stomach.

It _hurts._

And he thinks maybe yesterday’s soup had a bit of leftover chicken soul in it, because it feels like that chicken is trying to fly up his u-soft-ah-gus (Dean taught him that word two months ago) and out of his mouth.

Sammy does the only thing he knows to do when he’s feeling bad.

“ _Dean?_ ”

Dean moans and rolls over and Sam frowns. “Dean!”

Another moan. “Go back to sleep, Sammy.”

“But _Dean.”_

Dean sighs and sits up to look at him. He takes in his pale face and the way he’s shivering, all wrapped up in his blankets, and he gets up and crosses the room and folds Sam up in his arms and Sammy feels warmer.

“What’s wrong?”

Sammy buries his nose into Dean’s pajama shirt and whimpers. “My stomach feels bad.”

Dean looks down at him, worried. He doesn’t want to be vomited on. “Are you nauseous?”

Sammy nods. Then he shakes his head and angles his eyes up to Dean. “What’s ‘nauseous’?”

“It means you feel like throwing up. Do you feel like throwing up, Sam?”

Sammy thinks for a moment. Then he nods again.

“Do we need to go to the bathroom?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Dean gets up and starts towards the door, but Sam doesn’t move. Dean beckons for him to follow. Sam shakes his head.

“I’m cold.”

His big brother sighs (again) and returns to the bedside. Then he picks Sammy up and carries him out into the hallway, wrapped up in his blanket like he’s a baby.

They’re halfway to the bathroom when Sammy makes a sort of mewling noise. Then he burps, air rushing up from his stomach, and there’s an awful, burning taste at the back of his throat, and Dean breaks into a sprint.

They make it to the bathroom right on time and Dean sets him down and he vomits into the toilet. Dean keeps a hand on his shoulder the entire time, makes soft hushing noises, and when Sam’s stomach is empty, he’s there with a damp towel and a paper cup full of water.

As soon as Sammy is clean and he’s rinsed down the awful taste in his mouth, he hurls himself into Dean’s arms and cries.

Dean holds onto his brother and carries him back to bed. He brings him ginger ale and crackers and Sam falls asleep.

 


	6. Asleep

_September 8 th, 1988, Afternoon_

_Asleep_

* * *

 

Sammy is having trouble sleeping.

He’s exhausted; it’s plain as day. His face is pale, his normally bright eyes dull, huge dark circles beneath his long lashes. He keeps switching between Saharan heat and Antarctic chills. Uncle Bobby tried to give him medicine, but they’re not sure if it helped because he threw it up soon after, along with everything else they’ve tried to feed him.

Dean’s been by his side the entire time.

Sometimes he’ll get Sammy to close his eyes for a few brief moments, but then his fever switches and he wakes up again, coughing and nauseous with his nose clogged or dripping down the back of his throat. He’ll cry to Dean, ask him when he’s going to feel better, and Dean will comfort him until he’s calm enough to sleep again.

Then they repeat the process.

Dean is exhausted. Sammy’s settled down for the moment, his sleep awkward and restless. Dean lies down beside him and wraps his arms around his brother.

Sammy nestles closer, mewling. “I wanna be better!” he mumbles, and Dean knows he’s awake again.

“Shh,” says Dean. “It’s ok. Go to sleep and you’ll feel better when you wake up.”

“Dean….” cries Sammy. “It’s not fair….”

“I know, Sammy,” breathes Dean, closing his eyes. “Just hush now. I’m right here.”

He doesn’t mean too, but pretty soon he’s fallen asleep.


	7. Exhaustion

 

_September 8 th, 1988, Evening_

_Exhaustion_

* * *

 

Bobby walks upstairs to check on the boys, more ginger ale in hand in case Sam’s run out. Quietly he walks into their room, pushing open the door that was cracked slightly to allow the light to come in.

The boys are lying curled up against each other, and Bobby smiles at the sweetness of the scene. Even as he watches, Sammy blinks his eyes open and his lip trembles like he’s about to start crying again.

“Dean…?” he whispers, but Bobby knows that Dean is asleep. He sets the ginger ale down on the bed-stand and gently shakes Dean.

Dean’s wakefulness comes slowly, reluctantly. He stares at Bobby uncomprehendingly for several moments. Then Sammy reaches out one small arm and wraps it around his neck, holding himself close to his older brother with a desperate need.

Bobby carefully pries Sam’s fingers free and picks him up into his lap. Then he sits down on the edge of the bed and smiles at Dean.

“Why don’tcha go get some sleep?” he says softly, glancing meaningfully at Dean’s bed across the room. Dean furrows his eyebrows, the words taking a moment to register through his exhaustion.

“I…I can’t leave Sammy.”

As if to emphasize his words, Sammy coughs pitifully and stretches his hands towards Dean.

“Yes, ya can,” says Bobby. “Yer exhausted. Go get yerself rested.”

Dean is too tired to argue, and slowly gets up and crosses the room. The second his head hits the pillow, he is asleep.

Sammy blinks up at Bobby, pouting. “I wan’ Dean.” His eyes are big and sad, and it takes all of Bobby’s stubbornness not to give in.

“I can do anythin’ yer brother can,” Bobby says sternly. “An’ I’m older so I got more experience.”

Sam seems to consider this for a moment. Then he lays his head back against Bobby’s chest and sighs. “C’n I have a story?” he asks.

Bobby nods and thinks for a moment. “I think I have just the one.”


	8. Werewolf Story

_September 8 th, 1988, Evening_

_Werewolf Story_

* * *

 

Once upon a time there was a young man named Bobby Singer. He was an ordinary man, with an ordinary life, except that in his spare time, he hunted monsters.

One day Bobby was eating dinner when there came a knock on his door. When he opened it, there stood Bobby’s friend Rufus.

Rufus was older and braver than Bobby, and he was the one who was teaching Bobby all about monsters. They were a team, those two, and Rufus had caught wind of a monster that needed to be hunted, so he’d come to fetch Bobby.

Bobby grabbed his hunting supplies and left his dinner to cool on the table. Then he climbed into Rufus’ rusty old truck and they drove off.

They drove all night until they reached a small town named Meadowfield. Meadowfield was the epitome of a typical American town, with white picket fences and garden parties.

_“What’s ‘epitome’?” Sam asks, and Bobby tells him._

Bobby and Rufus walked into a café and had lunch, and Rufus told Bobby all about the monster they were after.

“It eats their hearts,” he said.

_Sam makes a face and clutches at his chest. “Ew!” he squeals. Bobby smiles. “Don’t worry, it won’t get you,” he says. “Why not?” Sammy asks. “Because you’ve got Dean and me.”_

Rufus said it so seriously, so matter-of-factly, that Bobby had to laugh, but Rufus wasn’t joking. “So what does that mean?” asked Bobby.

“Werewolf,” said Rufus.

“Werewolf? Those exist?”

“Yup.”

It was insane, but Bobby had seen a lot at this point so he believed Rufus. Rufus had never lead him wrong before, so why should he now?

They spent all day doing research, and by nightfall, they’d figured out who the werewolf was. It was a full moon that night, so the monster would be out hunting. It didn’t know, however, that it was being hunted too.

They found it in the boathouse of Meadowfield’s lake. It had cornered a woman and was intending to bite her and turn her into another werewolf. She was screaming and crying, because the werewolf was so scary looking.

_“What did it look like?” asks Sam in awe, gazing up at Bobby reverentially. “It was well-muscled with sharp teeth and long fingernails like claws,” he says. Sammy smiles. “Cool!”_

The werewolf was about to bite the woman when Rufus and Bobby entered the boathouse. Rufus shouted, “Hey!” and the werewolf turned around. As soon as it saw them, it ran away. It knew better than to mess with them.

Rufus and Bobby chased it out onto the dock. They chased it right to the end, and when they had it cornered, it turned around and attacked them!

_Sammy gasps and pulls his blanket tighter around him. Though he won’t admit it, he’s beginning to feel sleepy._

It almost got them several times, but Rufus and Bobby were too good. They dodged all the werewolf’s attacks, though Bobby did get a few scrapes. They were winning until the werewolf managed to catch Rufus and send him flying into one of the boats that was tied up on the dock. Bobby got mad that the werewolf had hurt his friend, so he shot it with a silver bullet.

_“Why silver?” Sammy asks. “That’s the only thing that’ll kill a werewolf,” Bobby says._

Bobby helped Rufus out of the boat and teased him about getting knocked out, especially since he was supposed to be the experienced one. Rufus made a face at him, but as they were walking back along the dock, Rufus grew more serious and told Bobby that he’d done a good job.

They made sure the woman got safely to the hospital, and then they drove home. They said goodbye and Bobby went inside.

He watched Rufus pull away from the house, and then he finally got to eat his dinner.

_Across the room, Dean is awake. He watches them sleepily, a strange mixture of emotions on his face. “Are werewolfs real?” Sammy asks, his eyelids drooping. “Of course not, Sammy,” says Dean from the other bed. “They’re just a story.” But his eyes meet Bobby’s and they hold a deeper meaning._

_“It sounded real,” says Sammy. “Maybe you should write stories, Bobby.” Bobby laughs. “I’ll think about it. You ready to sleep yet?” Sammy nods sleepily, his eyes already closed. Within seconds, both boys are asleep._

_Bobby smiles. Then he gets up and leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind him._

 


	9. Hungry

_September 9 th, 1988_

_Hungry_

* * *

 

When Dean wakes up, the room is filled with light, lines on the floor from the window blinds. Dean checks the clock; it is noon.

Sammy is still asleep, and at last the sleep is peaceful. Dean smiles. He feels refreshed and ready to start the day.

Across the room, Sammy rolls over and opens his eyes. The corners of his lips turn up as his gaze meets Dean’s.

Dean gets up and pads across the floor to sit on Sam’s bed. “Hey, champ,” he says quietly. “You feel any better?”

Sam nods.

“Tell me how you feel.”

Sammy contemplates for a few seconds. “My stomach doesn’t hurt,” he says. Then he sniffles. Coughs once.

Dean puts a hand out to feel Sam’s forehead, and is pleasantly surprised to see that his fever is gone. “Lookin’ good. We’ll have you on your feet in no time.”

Sam grins and sits up, leaning against Dean and closing his eyes again. Dean puts an arm around him and they sit there in companionable silence.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m hungry.”


	10. Stories Are The Best Medicine

_September 10 th, 1988_

_Stories Are The Best Medicine_

* * *

 

As soon as John opens the door and steps into Bobby’s house, he is met with an armful of Sam.

“Dad!” The joyful cry puts a smile on John’s face and he scoops up his wiggly five-year-old and looks into the boy’s beaming face.

“Hey, Sammy,” he greets. “Have you been good for Uncle Bobby?”

Sammy nods seriously and opens his mouth to say something, but at that moment Dean comes running into the hallway. John grins at his oldest and opens an arm towards him. Dean runs into his father’s hug.

“How about you?” John asks. “Have you been a good boy? Been looking out for your brother like I told you?”

“Yes, sir,” says Dean.

Sam wriggles in John’s arms, looking excited. “Dad, Dean is really awesome!” he cries. “I got sick and he took care of me and fed me ginger ale and crackers and chicken soup and tea, except that the tea was kinda gross but I drank it anyway because it made my throat feel better, and then they tried to make me drink medicine but I didn’t want to but they made me but then I just threw up and—“

John holds up a hand to stop the flow of words from his younger son’s mouth. “Whoa, there, tiger,” he laughs. “Slow down. You got sick?” He sends a glance to Dean, eyebrow raised.

Dean bites his lip to hide a smile. “Uncle Bobby thinks it was the flu. But he’s better now.”

Sam screws up his face and sneezes into John’s shirt. Dean looks sheepish.

“ _Mostly_ better.”

Bobby appears in the kitchen doorway and scowls at them all, but his eyes are dancing. “I wouldn’ta taken yer boy if I knew he was gonna go and get sick on me,” he says.

John throws back his head and lets out a deep-throated laugh, because he’s seen Sammy sick before and it’s not pretty. “Bet that was fun.”

Bobby sends him a mean look. “Oh, yeah,” he says sarcastically. “A real party.”

Sammy is tugging at John’s beard. “Dad,” he whispers. “Uncle Bobby acts really mean but I think he really just wants to be a writer.”

John stares at him, surprised. His face takes on an amused expression. “A writer, huh?”

The older hunter’s scowl deepens at the same time as Sam shushes him. “Shh, Dad!” he says urgently. “I think he’s embarrassed.”

Dean is shaking with silent laughter, one hand holding onto John to keep from falling over.

“Why should he be a writer, Sammy?” asks John.

“He told me a story and made me better.”

John smiles and ruffles his hair. “Well,” he says. “Stories _are_ the best medicine.”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
